


indigo

by bellafaithy



Category: TOMORROW X TOGETHER | TXT (Korea Band)
Genre: Bruises, M/M, beomgyu likes biting, but like mild and soft so, grammatical error ensues, i was stress wtriting and this came up, like in a day im not shitting u, mild hands infatuation??, mild skin infatuation?, so save that for future references children
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:29:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25112401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellafaithy/pseuds/bellafaithy
Summary: indigo looks so damn pretty on yeonjun
Relationships: Choi Beomgyu/Choi Yeonjun, Choi Soobin/Choi Yeonjun, Choi Yeonjun/Everyone, Choi Yeonjun/Huening Kai, Choi Yeonjun/Kang Taehyun
Comments: 9
Kudos: 167





	indigo

“Hyung, come on!” Beomgyu yells, ducking away from Yeonjun’s devil claws and hiding behind a very exasperating looking staff.

Yeonjun just barks out a laugh, hands outstretched to him like how Boemgyu had ran after him in their Can’t You See Me MV.

“Is this payback? I swear to god, hyung. That shit doesn’t come off nearly as easy as those tomatoes.”

“Awww, but it’s just makeup, BG,” Yeonjun pouts yet the mirth glints in his eyes like cat’s.

“It’s paint!” Beomgyu hisses, and the staff drags him away by the ear before Yeonjun could really get his painted on hands on him and makes a mess out of both of their attires.

It’s finally Yeonjun’s shot for their Eternally MV, and the staffs had put it off till the last shot, which really last till 3 something in the morning. And for good reasons, too.

“Oh my god, this feels weird,” Yeonjun lifts up his hand, coated with indigo watery paint, sniffing at it out of boredom. He snaps away, face twisting at the smell.

“It’s like I’m covered in slime and it’s cold.”

“We’re getting the heater higher,” one of the staff still adjusting the flowers on his head consoles. The crown sits heavy on his head, made lighter by the thin strings tying it securely to the tall backrest of the wooden chair he’s sitting on. All he has to do is sit still and pretends he’s in an eternal sleep.

“Wow, you look like a statue,” Taehyun genuinely comments, munching on a beef jerky as he waits for the final touch up of the settings.

“I am,” at the offhanded gloating, Taehyun looks ready to take it back until Yeonjun giggles, abashed. “Just kidding, just kidding. It’s the flowers. And the paint!” the older raises his hands up as per the staff’s request, the purple liquid trailing off one finger to dip into the pool of white sloshing between his toes.

“Okay, we’re set!”

Taehyun knows when to zone in, zone out when the cues are given. All those times practicing getting into the mood and situation really paid off well. The purple blue flowers around him are beautiful, easy to the eyes.

He knows they’re artificial, but he likes to imagine they’re real, that there are those familiar sweet soft scent lingering in the air from how surrounded he is with them, the flowers and stems fragile and vulnerable and yields easily underneath the crunching steps of his converses.

“Look straight ahead towards Yeonjun, Taehyun.”

He doesn’t try looking for the direction, needs his eyes to be innocent and clueless as he looks ahead in cue, supposed to randomly recognize the head of neon yellow hair in the middle of the flower field, the headlights panning on him to the centre to mimic his tunnel of concentration.

It’s a little odd to act as if he’s never seen Yeonjun like this after taking him in just ten minutes ago, but the surprise on his face is genuine, if one were to ask.

They had given Yeonjun an overall porcelain makeup to complement the lapis blue dripped over his adam’s apple off to the side, to give the impression that someone had slit his throat and his blood spills all over in shades of royal blue.

In this vision of utterly divine sleep of eternity, Yeonjun looks strikingly beautiful.

Taehyun is supposed to act like he’s never seen such a horrifying sight, petrified by the death painted so beautifully on Yeonjun. But he guesses the expression on his face was genuine, for the director only takes another couple of shots for good measure before calling it a day.

“Great job, Taehyun-ah! You did great,” the director slips in a compliment among other comments, and Taehyun grins sheepishly as few of the staffs pat him on the back.

“Ohh, this is gonna take hours to wash off,” Yeonjun pouts, dabbing himself from the remaining wet paint with a disposable towel the staffs had wrapped him in.

The paint is still fresh on his neck and shoulders, supposedly to represent the spill of a noble blood. The planning team still hasn’t shed them any light on the meanings behind their staging and the storyline but from up this close, Yeonjun does seem like a royal blood.

Pale skin glistening underneath the headlights above them, the lapis blue a stark contrast to his naturally fair skin, petals of the authentic flowers catching themselves in between the strands of his hair; Taehyun is honestly a little awestruck.

“What? Are the flowers still there?” Yeonjun pulls away the crown of flowers carefully from his hair so that they won’t fall off into the pool of paint, bare feet half submerged in it. That would have ended them in a sticky mess.

“Nothing,” Taehyun swallows, wide owl eyes blinking up at the older with a newly profound interest.

Yeonjun blinks back at him.

Beomgyu had been curious.

He was told now and then that his curiosity is much like a cat’s, rivaling that of Hueningkai’s. And much like what the idiom’s said since the beginning of literature, it kills the cat.

But Beomgyu’s proud that at the ripe age of 20, he still hasn’t got himself near to dead. Although, the closest he’s gotten to is when he had dashed across the street just as the traffic light flashes green just to see if he could make it before it flashed green.

It had earned him a good smack from Soobin right then and there, but he was quite proud of himself.

Curiosity, as wonderful as it sounds, is also very deadly, it seems.

Yeonjun is nursing his cold mug of chocolate drink, fresh out of the shower with his hair still dripping into the towel around his shoulders, skin glistening and pink, bared from his windbreaker and shorts. He must had had another scalding hot shower again.

His face is practically glowing from the aftershower, lips bright red and has his skin always look that glistening? Is it because of the steam? He looks like he’s freaking luminescing.

“Did you get all the paint off?” Beomgyu asks, eyes fixed on the skin of his shoulders.

“I did, but it took too long. And my skin is raw from how hard I had to scrub them off,” Yeonjun complains absentmindedly, stirring the drink with a spoon. The windbreaker had been purposely 2 sizes bigger when he had bought it, and the collar almost slips of one of his shoulders.

The intensity of Beomgyu’s stare intensifies.

Ah, is that why his skin is so pink?

“Did you take a hot shower again? Didn’t we tell you to take a cold one for your hair?” he distracts himself by running his fingers through the wet locks.

Yeonjun likes it when the members play with his hair, as much as he likes to do theirs.

This is _dangerous_. Beomgyu’s mind is threading on dangerous territory.

“Well, if it helps, I had to shower for 2 hours straight just to get the tomato smell off,” he offers.

Yeonjun shrugs, the hood hanging off his right shoulder like its life depends on it. The patches of smooth fair skin taunts Beomgyu from this short proximity, and Beomgyu finds himself back to when he was a child.

At the peak of his curiosity.

“I don’t mind the smell. But the paint would irritate my skin if I don’t manage to get them off quickly—ouch!”

Yeonjun gapes down at Beomgyu, whose teeth are now latching onto the bare patch of skin on Yeonjun’s shoulder like a slimy snake, the younger staring up at him through those long thick eyelashes. Innocence out of place, gauging his reaction.

“What the hell are you doing?” Beomgyu had fully expected a whack to his head, the least, for his uncalled impractical whims. But Yeonjun merely flicks him off on the forehead with the blunt of his knuckles and playfully shoves at his shoulder.

“What are you, a pup?” Yeonjun grimaces at the trail of saliva and the taletell of teeth mark left behind, dragging Beomgyu by the hoodie to rub it off. “Ewww, dirty waterrrr.”

“You know, hyung. You’ve got really pretty skin,” Beomgyu blurts out loud, disregarding the fact Yeonjun’s using his own hoodie to wipe off the dead skin cells of his mouth. “Like, all lily white and fair and real smooth. Like girls do.”

He’s banking on the usual self-love act that Yeonjun always flaunts whenever someone as much as praises the colour of his hair, but he seriously doesn’t expect the blush climbing up Yeonjun’s ears, the tiniest uplift to the corners of his lips, an unusual discreet act of shyness.

It’s oddly lovely.

“Yah. What is it, Gyu? You want me to get you ice-cream? Is that why you’re being so weird?” Yeonjun scoffs, turning his attention towards his drink, condensation pooling at the base. “Cuz I’m telling you, it’s not working.”

“Aww, I was hoping for a cookie dough ice-cream!”

Beomgyu knows he hadn’t bitten down so hard. But the teeth print lasts at least throughout the entirety of the night, dark red and tinting the faintest of indigo, sometimes peeking up from the collar to taunt him before Yeonjun mindlessly pulls them back up his shoulder, eyes glued to the bright screen of his phone.

Now what is Beomgyu supposed to do with this newly discovery that is his infatuation?

“Kai, stop.”

The demand goes straight out of the window as Hueningkai continues petting down the sides of Yeonjun’s unkept hair, from the roots down to the tip, up down up down.

The grin he sports on his face despite the obvious scowl on Yeonjun’s hair as the younger continues ruffling his hair whoever way he deems fit is, bratty.

Hueningkai’s feeling extra giddy and mischievous today, energy oozing out of him with mirth as he hops around and tries irking the olders, but somehow (not unexpected, Yeonjun had foreseen this coming the moment Hueningkai busted his ass on a four deck cards last night) Yeonjun is at the far end of the receiving end.

At the blatant show of disrespect (it’s a joke), Yeonjun tries clawing at his face. Preferably his ears.

“You punk, yah—” he hurtles forward, Hueningkai shrieking that dolphin pitch that Taehyun still struggles to reach up to this day. Grabbing him by the wrists, they make a show of fighting for the upper hand, sneakers squeaking against the polished tiles of the dance floor.

“Don’t fight too hard or you’ll hurt your ankle again, Huening,” Taehyun warns absentmindedly, eyes stuck on his phone and absolutely not minding the two. “You really should control yourself whenever our staffs bring their baby with them—”

“AHHAHAHHA! Hyung, I was joking, just joking. You were cute—” Hueningkai dodges a slap to the chest, catches Yeonjun’s assaulting hand and successfully tugs them back, Yeonjun’s chest colliding with his at the force.

It is all playful banters and games until Yeonjun sneakily hooks an ankle to the back of Hueningkai’s knee, yanks hard and they both topple over Hueningkai’s back in a mess of uncoordinated limbs.

“Squish em’!!!” Beomgyu screams aggressively from the other side of the room, having been watching the whole scene unfolded like a preying cat, and before they both knew it, a good 120 pounds of muscles land smack dab over Yeonjun’s back.

Beomgyu barks out a laugh, the air wheezing out of Hueningkai’s lungs at the added weight. “Taehyunnie! Come over here quick!”

“No, you insolent child, stay where you are.”

Taehyun comes over, scans his eyes all over the heap, Yeonjun squirming in between the body sandwiches like burnt worm. Despite Yeonjun looking ready to contemplate murder, he shrugs and gingerly sits on Beomgyu’s laps, hands on his knees to mimic a proper lady taking her designated seat.

“The disrespect is real in this one,” Hueningkai feels it more than hears it mumbled against his chest, and the laughter he crows out has a hand slapping over his mouth, misses and lands excellently on his forehead.

Must have been Yeonjun.

“Okay, you seriously need to get up unless Kai wants a cracked ribcage. Scram.”

It isn’t until Beomgyu has completely peeled away from the dog pile does it finally dawns in Hueningkai that he had been holding both of Yeonjun’s wrists hostage in a death grip all the while. Yeonjun wiggles his arms and he lets go, pursing his lips at the tiniest frown wrinkling the older’s eyebrows at the sight of the damage.

“Jesus, Huening. Didn’t have to be so hard on me,” Yeonjun complains, twisting his hands around gingerly to test it.

Hueningkai didn’t mean it, of course. He never ever wants to hurt a soul, couldn’t even. This one had been nothing but accidental, but upon closer look, a fade shade of blue starts to bloom in thick circles around Yeonjun’s wrists, where his fingers had clutched on tightly enough to break off the blood circulation for a good minute in their little game of chicken.

Beomgyu had commented once, head loose from sleep deprivation and surviving on 5 cans of cola, how easily Yeonjun bruises and all the cuts he’d had until now would never really stop bleeding until he’s pressed them against ice cubes for minutes long. Anemia, perhaps?

It was a just a random clutch of a memory pulled out in fistful in the midst of deep lethargy, so Hueningkai doesn’t dwell much on why this is a wonder to Beomgyu.

But the indigo blue, emerging in thick clouds to the surface, looks stark contrast against Yeonjun’s pale skin. The whole thing makes Yeonjun’s wrists look slender, oddly vulnerable.

It’s so pretty.

His mind skits to a screeching halt at the thought, feeling the impending warmth crawling up the back of his neck at the glare/pout Yeonjun shoots at him.

“It hurts,” Yeonjun hisses, drawing out the ‘s’. The spell having been being broken, Hueningkai plows him over to the floor, giggling while mushing their cheeks together in what he calls an ‘attempt of consolation’.

Yeonjun groans deep within in his chest, this time resigning and letting the younger roll them both around.

Hueningkai just hopes he doesn’t catch on to the spiral of emotions that came just now in the attention of the bruises.

Soobin’s ability to stretch out his skin as far as 2 inches from his face is still quite fascinating till this day. The statement made strongly by Yeonjun’s almost obsessive tendencies to pinch and pull at his face whenever he can get.

But that kind of doesn’t compare to the dark blooming indigo the shape of fingers circling over both of Yeonjun’s wrists.

He had been horrified at first, mulling and panicking over the older: “What is this? Where did you get this? Did you fall off the skateboard again?”

To which Yeonjun confusingly said he didn’t skate for almost three weeks now. Soobin grabs at his elbow and shakes his arm up, the bruised wrist rocking back and forth at the motion.

Yeonjun winches, from the motion, and quickly assured Soobin that it didn’t hurt and explained the whole ordeal and cat fight he had with Hueningkai in practice.

“The kid is getting stronger now. He’s trying to suppress all his hyungs,” Yeonjun murmured with a kind of solemn akin to a disappointed father. “I should really be picking up pace now before he could actually wrestle his way out in games, for real this time.”

Yeonjun is only ever sleepy when he back is against something soft and bracketing, like a couch or the swivel chair that they would usually sit on for the staffs to do their hair and makeup. Other than that, he could hold himself up and well even when he’s been running on 2 hours of sleep and three Americanos for the first 3 hours of the morning.

But maybe it had been extremely fatiguing for the past week, it even took a tool on Taehyun who’s always been such a level-headed boy throughout promotion weeks. Soobin had been into the toilet for not more than 10 minutes, and Yeonjun’s already knocked out cold on the base of the couch, legs up and draped over the cushion.

“At this rate, no wonder his back hurts,” Beomgyu sighs as he makes way into the bathroom.

Soobin crouches over Yeonjun, hair still dripping wet, and the droplets dropping onto Yeonjun’s face has the older scowling in his sleep and shifting to the side, legs drawn down to a curl into himself.

Soobin coos.

“Aww, hyung. Go sleep in the room. You hate it when I sleep here,” he shakes him gently by the shoulders, only to be met with a groan and promptly ignores his effort at trying to be a nice dongsaeng.

“Ignore him. You two are the same when it comes to ground zero,” Taehyun says as he sinks down on the couch, careful not to get his feet all over Yeonjun. That would be incredibly rude and probably warrant him a good pinch to the cheek.

“Heh, I’ll get the blankets.”

“No worries. Huening’s getting some. We’re having Avengers rerun,” Taehyun pulls out a remote control wedged in between the cushion, stares at it like he’s contemplating on sniffing on them, before chickens out of it and punchs the on button.

In between the movie where the Black Widow comes in and rams Hawkeye into a nearest pole, Soobin’s eyes land on Yeonjun’s wrists, peeking out from the ridiculously long sleeves.

Curiosity rearing its ugly head, he takes one hand into his own, eyeing with profound interest at the slim outlines of his bones. Soobin had concluded over the years of observing and eyeing the hard lines and shapes of different performers, choreographers, singers: out of them all, dancers, _dancers_ like Yeonjun and Hyunjin from Stray Kids would always have the prettiest body lines.

And boy does Yeonjun has pretty lines. His forearm, despite the thickness that comes with years of working out, Soobin’ hand could still close around it with at least an inch to spare.

Yeonjun’s slender wrists look uncharacteristically fragile and so much slender in his big hand, pliant from sleep.

Hueningkai and Taehyun are behind him on the couch munching on stale potato chips and crushed dry ramyeon, occasionally exchanging words of update regarding school works and time schedule.

Soobin skims his fingers over the tender skin, where the bruises lay out thick and engulfing.

“Huening,” he calls over his shoulder, back pressed against the couch’s base. Hueningkai leans forward, the bowl thudding numbly to the back of Soobin’s head. He thrusts Yeonjun’s hand to the other’s face, startling him, before a wide sheepish grin overtakes his face.

“I didn’t mean to!” he tries, grabbing at Yeonjun’s flair hand to inspect it. His thumbs over the blue spot, eyes uncharacteristically dark before he splays his hand flat against Yeonjun’s, testing the mould.

“He was tryna claw my face. Wow, has hyung’s hand always been this small?” wonder colours his tone as he crooks his fingers, bending Yeonjun’s backwards, amazed by the tips of his own peeking behind Yeonjun’s effortlessly.

“Nah, you guys are just a bunch of giraffes,” Taehyun comments offhandedly, spreading his own tiny hand over Yeonjun, sandwiching the older between him and Hueningkai’s, and suddenly they have a trio of bear family.

“It’s a bear family!” Hueningkai squawks happily, wiggling their hands together, not having a care for Yeonjun’s perturbed sleep. He points at them according to their size: Taehyun, Yeonjun and him. Exactly in that order. “Baby bear, mama bear, papa bear!”

“Eww,” Taehyun responses, but the grin sits warm on his face. “I would rather not have you as a papa bear. That would be catastrophic.”

“What’s weirder is if we have Yeonjun hyung as a mama bear. Can you imagine him going around wearing pink apron and swinging spatula at our faces?” Beomgyu throws them what seems to be 5 layers of blankets.

“Wear that before you uncivilized people passed out in the living room like last time.”

Yeonjun can’t remember how they ended up like this, but the moment he wakes up, Soobin has his hand in his.

His phone had been screaming on top of its mechanic lungs and he gropes around blindingly for it, not realizing just yet the hardness of the surface he’s laying on. Until his hand smacks dab on something soft and solid, the opaque jumping at the impact.

He had snapped up on his elbows in a startle, eyes bleary as he takes in the surroundings. He’s on the floor of the living room, pillows and blankets kicked haphazardly around him and oh, he’s wedged in between Beomgyu and Soobin.

The phone is still screaming bloody murders, and begrudgingly he digs in out from underneath Beomgyu’s chest, killing it off and throwing it in the general direction of the couch. He looks around again, one eye opened because how the hell did they end up sleeping on the floor, together like a bunch of rowdy teenagers?

As a ground rule, they are not supposed to be sleeping outside of their bedrooms to escape the hazards that are cold and fever, also for the well being of their throat.

When he tries scratching at his face (he could already tell there’s a sleep crease running down his entire cheek from how itchy is it), something tugs him down by the hand.

It’s Soobin’s. His fingers are tangled firmly in his own, even with the sleep heavy in his bone. He tries blinking away the sleepiness clogging his head and finally clears away into the hard lines of Soobin’s long fingers, thick and sturdy against his.

As he looks closer, flipping them upside down, Soobin’s hand is like engulfing his from up front.

The clock’s arm flirts close to the 5 o’clock and there is a pending realization sinking deep into his brain at the digit.

And then he yelps. “Kids! Oh my god, school! What the fuck?” Soobin is a light sleeper, despite him not being able to function properly in the first half an hour after awakening, so the startle and the jump of his body at Yeonjun's frantic yelling is very much expected.His head nearly slams against the edge of the coffee table that they had pushed aside to make room for more of them to sleep on.

“Wha—what?” he blinks around, eyes bleary and blotching red at the corners, but Yeonjun’s already throwing his hand away in order to fetch the two youngest to shoo them into shower. “Hyung, what happened? Why are you panicking?”

“Tyunning is gonna be late to school!” Yeonjun yells, trips over sleepy legs, and Soobin winches as he flops over on his front, socked feet up before he heaves himself up on shaky arms. “Holy shit, they’re gonna get their asses _grilled_ by the manager if—”

Huh, he’s growing fond of the maknaes’ nicknames already.

“Hyung, it’s Saturday,” Soobin helpfully says. “No school on Saturday. Hyung, you can stop panicking now.”

Yeonjun lands flat on his ass. Always too clumsy whenever he tries going about right after waking up.

“ _Oww_. Why didn’t you say earlier?” the older hisses, rubbing at his bum like an upset toddler. Soobin cocks his head to the side, confused and still groggy.

Beomgyu finally rises from the ashes, eyes sticky and hair a haystack on his head, to turn around for his mind to catch on the sight of Soobin trying to heft Yeonjun off the floor in bridal style, way out of his element and shaky in the knees.

It’s too early for this. Beomgyu just tuts, scratches his belly underneath his shirt and comments, “Yeonjun hyung, why didn’t you tell me you liked being a mama bear?”

Soobin slips, knocking an elbow against the countertop, risking Yeonjun a concussion and himself a fractured patella. Curses ensues.

**Author's Note:**

> this ended up wayyy to long but self indulgent! yippeee  
> anyways, love ur comments ^^ they always made my day


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